Left 4 Dead Hard Rock
by Lady NeverAfterNon
Summary: Glimpse at the end of the final campaign of Left 4 Dead. Not as much of an end as she'd though...Hints of Zoey/Francis, if you squint.


**Author's Note: **_Mmmm Left 4 Dead. Quite possibly one of the most fun games I've ever played. And Francis, hooo-eee, that man is amazing. Francis killed smoker, Francis killed boomer, Francis protected Lady Neverafternon, Francis is amazing._

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**Left 4 Dead -**  
**HARD ROCK**

** By:** _Lady NeverAfterNon_

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She hadn't expected a free ride once they made it out of the city. It was the friggin' apocalypse after all. But still she expected to at least feel some semblance of peace. She needed a damn break.

Zoey vividly remembered the horrifying first few days as she sat huddled in her pitch black barricaded dorm room, listing to the unearthly shrieks and growls as her fellow students turned and killed each other.

When the silence that eventually settled over the campus finally got too much to bear -not to mention she was running out of food- Zoey gathered a few supplies, a sturdy baseball bat, and her courage and set out into the dark and frightening place the world had now become.

She'd met Bill first. He had found her trying to defend herself against the horde that had been called when a boomer puked on her. She had been half blind and sick, her back literally in a corner as she desperately pushed and swung, trying to keep them off of her. Bill's grizzled old face on the roof above her as he calmly sniped the zombies attacking her with his hunting rifle was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. He'd offered her a hand up, and a pistol, casually telling her to pay more attention or she'd get herself killed.

Francis and Louis joined their party soon after. Louis running from an enraged tank outside his office building, and Francis drunk on top of a biker bar playing a game he'd invented: Zombie Capping. Ten points for shins, Thirty points for the stomach, and Fifty points for the head. Bonus points if you set them on fire first.

Francis, Zoey, Louis, and Bill. Four unlikely companions, bonded by trauma. They'd come out of this horror more than friends, they were a family. Zoey found herself strangely willing to die for each one of them, had risked her life for each one on more than one occasion. And they had done the same for her.

It had taken them almost a month to reach the safe zone. Struggling and fighting their way from safe house to safe house, sometimes spending days at a time in those cramped little rooms, waiting for the hordes outside to get bored and go away.

The refugee camp was bigger than she had thought it would be. All manner of people banded together to live and to survive. Everyone pooling their resources together to form a ragtag town of all walks of life. Every where she turned there were families being reunited, friends meeting after being separated for so long.

Zoey's family was among them. Her father and stepmother had found her almost immediately, and it was like home again. Though not quite: she'd grown used to the strong friendship and camaraderie of Francis, Louis, and Bill, and it was a slight shock to come back to the bickering and squabbling of her father, stepmother, and two older sisters.

Once they had reached the fortified safe zone, they'd all said their awkward goodbyes and had gone their separate ways.

Bill was the first to go. He lit a cigarette, said a gruff "see you" and then shuffled off into the ragged crowd of refugees, shoulders hunched. Louis scuffed his feet in the hard packed dirt, then stuck out his hand toward her, not meeting her eyes.

"Well, I suppose this is goodbye," he mumbled.

Zoey shook his hand warmly. "See you later."

She and Francis watched him go off, presumably towards the control center. That was Louis, always looking to help out. She could feel her family's eyes on her, accusing. Well she wasn't surprised. What they must have thought with their girl all alone for a month in a city wasteland with a Nam' vet, a scruffy looking corporate asshole, and a biker thug.

She heard Francis sigh, and then begin to speak. Suddenly Zoey didn't want to hear it. If she heard another goodbye her tough girl persona would crack, and she would burst into tears. She turned around and hugged Francis around the middle, her face in his shoulder. He hesitated for only a moment, then hugged her back. It lasted a moment, then Zoey pulled away and rubbed at liquid on her face that she told herself furiously was not tears.

Francis shook her hand, smiled, and turned. She watched him stride into the crowed, not looking back. His stride was easy, uncaring. But Zoey could tell from the way his broad tattooed shoulders were tensed, that he was fighting not to look back. They all were.

Finally she turned to face her family.

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Zoey rolled over uncomfortably. It was almost three in the morning, and she was still unable to get to sleep. She sighed, and punched the ratty backpack she had been using for a pillow. Sitting up, she leaned against the wall of the building her family had taken shelter next to, and closed her eyes, pretending that she could hear the familiar voices of her companions, talking quietly.

Francis would be playing poker with Louis and Bill would cleaning and loading his beloved M-16 machine gun, while overseeing their game and making sure Francis played fair. Dinner would not have been much, whatever they could scrounge from vending machines or garbage cans; stores would have been looted to the bone.

Her parents fighting drew her from her reverie. They weren't even attempting to lower their voices. Zoey's lip curled. This apocalypse had forced some people to change, some for the better and some for the worse. Her parents had changed for the worse. Her stepmother was selfish and vindictive, and her father had become cowardly and sniveling overnight, siding with whoever seemed to have the upper hand. Her sisters stuck together, recognizing power in numbers, and they had taken up with some of the soldiers in exchange for food and protection.

Zoey curled up and rested her head on her knees. Ever since the infection started, she had not felt safe. Not even now. But while she was with Francis, Louis, and Bill, she felt protected and cared for. Now, even though she was surrounded by her family, she felt alone.

Her decision to leave was final when her stepmother yanked a bag of old corn chips from her father saying they were not fit to consume, then ate them herself when he wasn't looking. Selfish.

Zoey did not even bid her family goodbye; she grabbed up her pack and strode off into the coming dawn. She felt bad, really, but it could not be helped. Her family, as well as she, had made their beds and dammit, now they were going to lie in them. She marched off purposefully, her conscience was clear. Now, she had a team to collect.

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Warm golden threads of light had just begun to shoot over the horizon, heralding the coming dawn, and Zoey had still not yet found her team. She found herself constantly rubbing at her tired eyes, and she no longer held her head up alertly but let it drop down onto her chest. She was so tired. Her body was on autopilot, her feet carrying her methodically forward, and she did not know the destination that they had in mind.

Zoey stopped when she found herself in front of one of the many canteen areas the soldiers had set up. She stared stupidly at the beat up wooden door for a moment, before slowly pushing it open and looking blearily around. So many faces, none really looking back and seeing her. So many faces, not one she recognized, not one was familiar.

She felt the familiar burn of tears at the backs of her eyes and she ducked her head, the exhaustion and the disappointment too much for her. What the hell was she going to do? She couldn' t go back to her family. Hell, they weren't even her family. Family is supposed to care for you, take care of you, protect you. What the hell was she doing here? Zoey took a deep breath, trying to get control of herself. Since the fricken end of the world started to come back together, she found herself playing the whiney bitch way too much.

_Get it together Zoey_, she told herself. And then the world stopped with two words.

"Hey kid."

She would know that voice like old scotch anywhere. She whirled around, and there was Francis sitting at a table, nursing a beer and looking right back at her with his familiar grey eyes. Louis sat near him with a journal that he was writing laid out neatly in front of him on the table. Bill sat on the windowsill, taking long drags from the smoke he had no doubt bullied off of some poor sod who's own cravings weren't nearly as important as the fear they felt at an old man with a gun in the violent throws of a nicotine fit. Bill was cleaning shiny bits of metal that when put together would probably be his beloved M-16.

Zoey plunked down onto the chair next to Francis, and it was like she'd never left. They had all managed to find each other, and it was funny that none of them had been able to go far. They were bound, whether they liked it or not. She was finally home.

"Get some sleep Zoey, you look like you're ready to drop, girl," Louis said softly.

"We'll be here when you wake up," Bill muttered over the sounds of his gun fitting together in soft, clean _snicking_ noises.

Zoey glanced at Francis, who was pointedly not looking at her, but his huge warm tattooed arm was quite obviously sitting next to her on the table. Zoey smiled gratefully, and she leaned her head against the offered shoulder. She drifted off listening to the familiar murmur of her friends' voices, finally at peace.

"Way I figure, we go up north, skirt the Lakes, and get up past the border, we have a chance. Ain't no people up there and we got a chance. None of this horde shit anyway," Bill said.

"True, though there will probably still be specials," Louis offered.

"I hate specials. Whatever, we'll deal with whatever crap we gotta. Safer than this joint anyhow," Francis growled, "The zombies will figure we're here eventually, the fort won't hold them forever."

"They'll keep coming, it's what they do...I-"

Their low voices gradually drifted into a blur. Zoey slept.

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F_IN_


End file.
